He pulled himself forward and extended his hand. I passed the bucket of nails and hammer to my left hand and proffered my right toward him.
He paused when our palms met. “Andrew. Andrew MacKinnon.” A tickle of warmth made me want to keep my hand against his longer than normal, but that wouldn’t be a wise decision.
“Sadie Rollins-Lan...Sadie Rollins. It’s nice to meet you, formally I guess.” Keeping calm and forcing my face not to erupt into a smile took more energy than I thought, and I hoped my heart didn’t burst through my chest.
“Likewise,” he said. “Nice jammies, by the way.”
The pilled, gray capri sweatpants and tight, pink University of Michigan T-shirt had seemed like the sensible, practical choice when I put them on, but thank goodness I’d worn my standard camisole under my shirt. My breasts, after six collective years of nursing, probably looked saggy without my sweater to shield them. I snorted and chastised myself for my thoughts.
“Actually, you look like you’re still in college. Did you go to Michigan?” he said. I reached up to smooth my straggly ponytail and stepped into the kitchen, hoping to disguise any evidence of having been thrown off-kilter. Andrew placed a key on the counter and draped his light coat over the back of a chair. Beads of rain stood out against the fabric of his jacket and threatened to fall to the floor while my heart still thumped against my chest like a set of Charlie’s drums.
“Yeah, I went there, but that seems like a lifetime ago now. So much has happened since then...” The sentiment slipped out, and what I had said invited conversation, but I didn’t have any plans to reveal anything to this man. This man I kept running into. How did this happen again?
“So, this might come off as rude, but...what are you doing here?” I asked.
A busy mind and body would benefit me, so I deposited the hammer and nails on the desk in the corner of the kitchen and rounded the island. The warm dishwater welcomed my hands when I plunged them in, my back to this stranger.
“Oh, I don’t come over too often, but I live two doors down. Small world and all that, right?”
“Right. Well, if you like dishes so much, Andrew, then grab a towel and start drying. I never do dishes with strange men, so it’s good we properly introduced ourselves.” Without thinking, I winked at him, a gesture that caught me off guard. Did he interpret my action as flirting? Oh shit. Was I?
Andrew strode to the drawer that held the towels and joined me at the sink. He took a piece of the breast pump into his hands without blushing and worked the towel around the flange. This looks like a good man.
“And Pete and I have worked together for years,” he said. “It’s obvious these two need a little help. I offered, and Pete took me up on it. But I guess they double-booked. You all right to share?”
One beat of my heart later, I looked at Andrew out of the corner of my eye as he set the pump apparatus on the counter. Did Pete and Jackie double-book? Or did Jackie have something up her sleeve? There was no way she’d have known Andrew was Grocery Store Man, which meant she didn’t have a hand in this. That belief hung on with a tenuous grasp as I passed off the next piece of the pump to Andrew.
“Well...”
This man was a stranger. How would it look for the two of us to stay here, together, overnight? A loud clap of thunder exploded overhead, and the beat of the rain increased in its intensity. No, I wasn’t going to head out there in the storm. The plan would remain the same.
“It’s not a problem, but there isn’t much to do. Clara’s sleeping, so I’m going to make tea and settle in on the couch. If you’d like to go home, though, go ahead.” I tossed the words out carelessly, unsure of how they would land.
“Trying to get rid of me so soon?” Andrew faced me as he spoke. “Nah, I’m in this for the night. Besides, I called in reinforcements.”
“Reinforcements?” His wife mustn’t have been at home.
“My parents. They live in town but don’t get to spend as much time as they’d like over at my place. They were thrilled to stay.” He folded the towel and placed it on the counter as I let the water drain. He leaned against the counter, waiting. For what?
Before the silence became uncomfortable, my inner hostess surfaced. “Would you like tea? Or coffee?”
“I’ll have coffee, but I don’t mind getting it myself, thank you.” Andrew moved toward the cabinets holding the mugs and pulled two down, offering one to me. The coffee pot sat on the counter, but he had to rummage around in the pantry to find the filters and the ground coffee. While he did so, I filled my mug with water, popped it into the microwave, and pushed the START button. Moving the bag of sugar aside and fighting the quivering in my hands, I grabbed a tea bag and a spoon and took them, along with a napkin, out to the living room. By the time I made it back to the kitchen, my water had heated, Andrew’s coffee had begun to brew, and my nerves had frazzled.
“You sure you don’t want any coffee? I made plenty, and it might be a long night.” He folded the coffee bag over itself and placed it back into the cabinet before turning to face me again.
The wonderful aroma of Arabica beans permeated the kitchen, but my nerves were already jangled enough. I glanced at my watch: 9:37 p.m. Andrew might be right about a long night.
“Thanks for the offer. Maybe in a little while. The tea will be perfect for me right now.”
